


Fight Fires In Your Best Clothes

by in48frames



Category: Bomb Girls, Chicago Fire
Genre: Crossover, F/F, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:17:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in48frames/pseuds/in48frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the accident, Leslie Shay finds herself in another time and place. There she meets Betty McRae, who is still grieving Kate's departure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fight Fires In Your Best Clothes

**Author's Note:**

> Show me two blonde, angsty lesbians and tell me they can't interact. Then try the other one.
> 
> If you want/need a (very short) primer on either show/character, [click here](http://in48frames.livejournal.com/584191.html).

"Excuse me. I think I'm lost."

Betty turned to look at the woman who had addressed her. She ended up looking her over from head to toe, entirely unable to place her uniform. Though beautiful, she wore pants that fit very close to the body, as well as a strange jacket whose material Betty could not identify. Betty was far from the most prudish or proper of ladies, but even she felt like wrapping her blazer around this strange woman to shield her from staring eyes on the street.

"Where are you trying to go?"

The woman looked around helplessly. "Well, to be honest, I don't know where I am. At all. So we'd better start with that."

The poor girl was really at a loss. Betty said, "We're in Toronto, the east end. Does that help?"

"Toronto?" The woman looked at the buildings around her, at Betty, and at the men and women striding up and down the street to either side of them. "But Toronto is like Chicago. A lot like Chicago. And this isn't like Chicago at all. This isn't... You certainly aren't..."

"You do seem rather confused. Have you just gotten off the train from Chicago?"

"You see, the thing is, I don't know how I got here. I don't think I took a train. And if I did, I don't remember it."

"Oh dear. You aren't on any drugs, are you? Did you inhale something?" Betty appraised the woman, then sighed. "You'd better come with me while we try to sort this out. We'll just go up to the rooming house, there'll be lots of girls there, it's perfectly safe."

The strange woman looked dubious, but she nodded. "I'm guessing it's safer than I am right now, anyway."

“I’m Betty, by the way,” and she held out her hand in introduction.

The other woman took it and shook it firmly, looking her in the eye. “Leslie Shay. Call me Shay.”

On their way up the stairs, Betty said, "I don't mean to pry into your affairs, Ms. Shay—” (“It’s just Shay,” Leslie interrupted.) “—but your clothes..."  
  
"Oh, I work for—”  
  
"It's a uniform, thank god. Listen, if you don't want to be asked questions every five minutes, you might want to borrow a set of my clothes. We all understand a uniform, but that is... something else."

Leslie looked down at herself and then at Betty. “Yeah, it does seem kind of out of the ordinary here. It’s totally normal, though... this is weird.”

They reached the floor of the rooming house, and Betty opened the door to her room, motioning Leslie inside. Moving quickly over to her dresser, Betty pulled out a long skirt and a blouse. Luckily Leslie looked about her size, so she pointed her to the washroom and said, “We can talk after you get changed.”

When the woman returned, Betty studied her simple, straight ponytail and sighed. “I’m not going to curl your hair for you, but this is going to draw attention. I’d better...” and she hunted through her drawers, finding a flowery scarf at the back of a drawer. Her stomach dropped when she saw it—a gift from Kate—but she didn’t have much choice. Releasing Leslie’s hair tie—so much like the end of a stocking, but fundamentally foreign—she gently arranged her hair and tied the scarf prettily around it.

Coming back around in front, she put her hands on her hips and nodded. “Not too shabby.”

Leslie turned to the mirror and raised her eyebrows. “Do I look the part?”

With a bit of a confused smirk, Betty replied, “That’s about as good as it’s going to get, I think.” She sat down on the bed and patted the place beside her. “Now come sit and help me understand what’s happening here.”

Leslie sat but threw up her hands and said, “Trust me, I would if I could. I don’t get this at all.”

“You are from Chicago, I presume?”

Nodding, Leslie said, “But the weird thing is... everything looks kind of like it did in the old movies.”

She was going to go on, but Betty interrupted her with a laugh. “By old you mean, what, twenty years? Fifteen? We aren’t that far apart in age, are we?”

Leslie stared at her. “I mean, like, Audrey Hepburn. Liz Taylor. Anything?”

Betty stared back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. There’s a cinema a few blocks away that plays the newest film every week. Do you have a cinema in Chicago that plays older films?”

“Well, yeah, but I watched most of them on DVD... or, you know, VHS, when I was a kid...” Leslie cocked her head as Betty continued to look completely blank. “What the hell is going on, seriously?”

“What year were you born?” Betty asked.

“Nineteen eighty.”

Betty choked on air and coughed until her eyes watered. Leslie put her hand on her back and watched her, concerned—though whether for her health or sanity Betty couldn’t tell. Finally she gasped, “Well, there’s your problem.”

“What?”

“It’s nineteen forty-one.”

“Uh. No.”

“Sorry, but yes. If you aren’t insane, or on drugs, or lying... you’re in the wrong year.”

“And city. Don’t forget... the city.”

“Year and city.”

“Wrong.”

“Definitely wrong.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, and then Betty said brightly, “Well, are you hungry?”

Leslie looked bewildered. “I have no idea.”

“Let’s get you something to eat. Because I don’t have the first clue what else to do.”

Betty stood and offered her hand to Leslie, who took it and stood, then said, “Thank you for helping me. I guess I’m lucky I stopped you.”

“We’ll see about luck. Food I can do.”

It was nearing ten at night now and the hallways were filled with girls darting back and forth as they prepared for the next day of work. Some ignored Betty or smiled at her; others stopped in their tracks and stared. A few girls were in the communal kitchen having a late dinner and gab session. These exchanged looks and left the room quickly, whispering. Betty held her head high through all of this, but when the room had emptied, she leaned on the counter and bowed her head. Tears dropped from her eyes and she rapidly blinked them away and smoothed her makeup with her fingertips.

She set to bustling about and preparing a snack for Leslie. Asking how she felt about eggs and toast, in no time at all Betty was setting a plate before her of fried eggs and buttered toast.

As Betty sat down across the table from Leslie, the stranger stuck her fork in an egg and said, “What was with that?”

Feeling the fight drain from her quickly, Betty slumped over the table. “Let’s just say there was an incident. I’m not the most popular person around here at the moment.”

“Well, technically I’m pretty sure I don’t exist, so if you want to spill... I’m probably the safest person currently in the wrong time, uh, zone.”

“I don’t know what it’s like where you’re from, but around here there’s a pretty strict mold we’re expected to fit into. I’ve never been quite right, and now everyone knows it.

“I can’t pretend to regret what I did. Maybe I just wish it weren’t seen as such a crime against society.”

Leslie leaned her chin on her hand and stared hard at Betty. She seemed to be trying to work her out—Betty couldn’t claim to be making it easy. But eventually Leslie said, “Yeah, I think I’ve been there. When I came out to my parents—they thought I ‘wasn’t quite right’, too. Luckily I was surrounded by friends who supported me, and I looked for and found more. I get the impression those friends aren’t so easy to come by here.”

“Not so easy, no—but I’m not nearly alone.” Kate’s face came to her mind and she closed her eyes for a moment, emotions welling up. Then she swallowed them back down and looked at Leslie, saying, “What do you mean by that, you ‘came out’? I can’t quite picture you as a debutant.”

Briefly amused, Leslie thought about that for a second. “Do you use the euphemism, ‘in the closet’? No? Well... we say that gay people who aren’t open about their sexuality are in the closet, and when they ‘come out’ is when they share that part of themselves with the people close to them. So when I came out, I told my parents that I was a lesbian, and then I told my friends.”

This speech was a bit much for Betty, who was covering her mouth with her hand and straining her neck to check if anyone was hanging around the entrance to the kitchen. She leaned forward over the table and said in a low tone, “We don’t really  _do that_  here. At least, not now. Not here. We don’t say these things out loud.”

Shrugging, Leslie lowered her voice and leaned forward as well. “Did I pick up on your vibe, anyway?”

Betty made a face at another strange word she couldn’t quite parse, but with enough context clues she got the gist. “I believe so. Can we take this back to my room?”

As they left the kitchen, several girls stood, awkwardly silent, around the hallway. Betty avoided their eyes and hoped they hadn’t heard much, leading Leslie straight back to her room. The other woman climbed onto the bed and crossed her legs, and Betty followed her lead.

Face slightly pained, Betty asked, “Are things... very different, where you come from? That is to say, would you expect a reaction like the ones you’ve seen here?”

Looking down, Leslie fiddled with the collar on the blouse Betty had loaned her as she thought. “Honestly, I wish I could tell you that nothing like this happens in my time, but it’s not true. It depends on where you live, who you have around you, and a million other factors you can’t control. But where I live, and with my friends? I’m as open and free as I can be. Everyone I know treats me just the same as they’d treat anyone else they respect. My sexuality is one of many things that make me who I am; it doesn’t define me, and for the most part, it isn’t a factor in how other people see me.”

“That sounds nice. I can’t believe how  _much_  this has become a factor in my life.”

With a straight stare, Leslie watched Betty and waited for the rest of the story.

As plainly as she could, Betty covered the basics: how Kate had arrived, green as spring grass; how Betty’s prejudices about her had been knocked down one by one; how Betty had fallen, deeply and irrevocably, in love; and how Kate had left.

“My friends have stood by me, but even they don’t know quite what to do with this. We don’t see it all that often; if people like me are out there, they aren’t talking about it. And so I hear what her father said—what she herself said—over and over in my head. It’s unnatural. It’s a deviation. It’s wrong.” Betty looked helplessly at Leslie.

“You know what’s funny,” Leslie said, narrowing her eyes and propping her chin on her hand. “In my time, Canada is way ahead of the U.S. in gay rights. You guys legalized gay marriage years ago, while individual states are still struggling to come to a consensus.”

“Really? Does that mean the government has...  _condoned_  homosexuality?”

Leslie looked stunned for a second. “Wow, it’s hard to remember exactly how long ago this is—well, we are. There are still people in government who don’t support gay rights, but there’s no getting rid of us and the majority of the population understands that. There’s not going to be any outlawing or criminalizing homosexuality. What we have to fight for now is equal rights.”

Betty was amazed. “Equal rights. I don’t even know one other gay person. I hear rumours about underground gay clubs; they might also worship Satan. This is hard to take in.”

Leslie reached out and put her hand on Betty’s knee. “I can imagine. But what I really want to tell you is—in my time, homosexuality is a fact. Most people believe that people are born gay or straight and it’s just the way they are. Yes, there are people who hate us—but smart, modern, liberal people know that we are just like everyone else. And recent elections prove that those people are in the  _majority_. You aren’t alone. You aren’t a freak. You just happened to be born attracted to a certain gender, like everyone else in the world.” In her passion she leaned forward, some of her weight falling on her hand. “I hate that there are people making you feel like you’re less than human, or there’s something wrong with you. You don’t deserve that, not for something that doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

Betty was drawn forward as well, eyes locked on Leslie’s. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but at the same time she wanted it to be true so bad her teeth ached. Then she remembered when and where she was, and sat back.

“Still. I am where I am. Despite whatever madness brought you here,” she cocked her head and smiled to show she was teasing. “I can’t travel through time. Here I am, and here I will stay.”

Leslie nodded. “All you can do is change the way you view your world. Yourself. All you can do is have faith in your choices. Because I’ve just met you and I already know you’re making the best ones you can.”

Betty half-laughed, face crumpling slightly. “Sure. Of course. I’ll get right on that.”

Leslie took her hand and held it gently in hers. “It’s a lot to ask. But it’s the only way to be happy. Being born at the wrong time is not an excuse to not live your life.” She smirked, eyes kind.

Betty reached up and touched Leslie’s cheek, then sighed. “You could teach me a lot. Maybe you were right about the fortune of our meeting. It seems I needed to meet you as much as you may have needed me.”

For a moment they sat in silence, watching each other, linked by their hands. Then Betty remembered the time and said, “Drat, I have to work in the morning. Will you be able to sleep?”

Leslie took her hand back and sat up straight, saying, “Sure. I can sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“We are still essentially strangers. More than essentially. Almost entirely. I really don’t want to put you out of your bed or disturb your sleep.”

Betty cocked an eyebrow at that and said, “I don’t know how you all in the future do things, but around here we consider it nothing to share a bed with a friend. I don’t think that’s too much to ask, do you?”

Leslie rolled her eyes. “Well, when you put it like that. I was thinking more along the lines of my potential for being a serial killer keeping you up at night.”

“Cereal killer? You’ll suffocate me in my sleep with a porridge paste? Oh, I’m terrified.”

“No, I...” Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “I think you’re better off not knowing that one. Okay. If you’re sure I’m sure.” Leslie shrugged and accepted a pair of Betty’s pyjamas to change into.

They lay side-by-side on their backs in the narrow bed. Betty stared up at the ceiling, thinking that it must especially now be striking Leslie how upside-down her world had turned, and wondering whether Kate’s world felt upside-down at all, or whether she fit right into the space she had left. Betty let out a soft sigh and Leslie turned onto her side, propping her head on her hand.

“Why are you taking care of me?” Leslie asked.

Not moving except for her eyelids lowering to half-mast, Betty said, “I saw myself in your eyes. I feel like we share something.” She turned just her eyes to look at Leslie. “Do you feel that way?”

After watching Betty for a moment, Leslie said, “Yeah, I do.” She continued to watch as Betty lay with her eyes trained on the ceiling. She asked, “How’s your sleep?”

Betty grimaced. “Oh, you know.”

“Yeah, I actually do know.” Leslie flopped onto her back and joined Betty in her study of the ceiling. “It sucks.”

Betty turned her head then to look at Leslie. “Is love ever worth it?”

“I’m the wrong person to ask that one, unfortunately. I’ve sort of given up on love.”

“But you said—”

“Good at advice. Not so good at taking my own.” Leslie turned her head as well and they held eye contact, only inches apart. Then she flicked her eyes down. “I’ve been hurt too. It’s the love that hurts. So I’ve stopped looking for that.”

“Well gee, we make quite a pair then, don’t we?”

Raising her eyes, Leslie smiled and reached out to take Betty’s hand. “It’s still so early for you, though. Don’t let one setback get you down. You have to give yourself at least four or five.” She winked overdramatically. “And—” Leslie raised their joined hands to her chest. “Whatever else I may say, the love is good while it lasts. It is so good. Don’t let me turn you bitter; don’t let her turn you bitter; don’t let the world. Fall in love, Betty. Do it.”

Feeling the pull, Betty shifted closer and tilted her forehead to touch Leslie’s. “You might yet convince me.”

Leslie shifted closer as well, throwing her outside arm over Betty’s shoulders and snuggling into the bed. Their breaths intermingled and they were so comfortable they didn’t mind at all. They each slept peacefully. Betty knew that at least she felt there was some form of security in Leslie’s arms, even if it was only the safety of a person who understood. It felt good to relax completely into that knowledge.

In the morning, Leslie lounged around the bed as Betty dressed for work. Betty could only imagine how her routines looked to Leslie; she asked in passing, “What is it you do in the future?

“I’m a paramedic. Riding in ambulances, saving the day.”

“And you wear...?”

“Jeans and a hoodie. Yeah... I know it looks crazy to you, but it’s pretty standard for 2012. You don’t see many women wearing calf-length skirts... like, ever. Skirts are pretty much knee-length or shorter, and more women wear pants.”

Betty felt a bit stunned. “I know fashions change, but... that’s quite a change. Wow.”

“All the better to show off our sexy calves,” Leslie said, grinning wickedly. Betty wiggled her eyebrows and flicked her skirt to the side to do just that, then turned away.

When Betty was ready to step out the door, face made-up and hair curled, she stood at the end of the bed, bag in hand and shoes on.

“If you’re going to leave the building, you’d better wear my clothes and plan to be out until I get back from work. There’s enough food in the kitchen with my name on it that I doubt you’ll starve. I’ll leave a little money, but I honestly don’t have much extra cash. Um... try not to talk to any strangers. Don’t react if anyone catcalls you. Please stay out of trouble.”

Standing there, Betty wrung her hands, obviously nervous to leave this bizarre situation to fend for itself. Leslie got up from the bed and came around to take Betty’s hands.

“I’ll be okay. Keep my head down, don’t spend a fortune, act prim and proper 1940s-style... Well, I  _think_  I can manage that. We’ll see how it goes,” and she winked at Betty.

As Betty turned to leave, Leslie stopped her and said, “One more second.” She stepped forward and slid her arms around Betty’s waist. “I obviously don’t have the slightest clue how this thing will go; if I’ll be here when you get back. I just want to do this now, just in case.” Gently pulling Betty’s body flush with her own, Leslie kissed her, properly and with all the education to her name. As much as her easy confidence was dampened by strange clothes and the whole time-traveling thing, she was  _really fucking good_  at kissing, and she showed Betty how it was done. When she leaned back, their hips close together, she smiled and said, “If I’m gone when you get back, I want you to at least know what that feels like.”

Dazed, thrilled, and hating the idea of a ten-hour shift, Betty managed to get out the door with a smile for Leslie. In the hallway, she leaned against the wall for a moment to catch her breath, and had the brilliant idea of checking her makeup in her compact mirror. Imagine the gossip that would spring up if anyone got wind of this.

Over her first cigarette of the day, Betty told Gladys just enough to have her lobbing  _looks_  across the factory line at Betty all morning. At lunch, she filled in some of the blanks—as much as she could communicate to only Gladys without drawing anyone else’s attention, and as much as she could communicate  _any_  of this with any form of sense. Gladys naturally thought Betty had gone completely batty, and all Betty could say was, “You’ll meet her if she’s still there after work. If she isn’t, well, then I suppose I probably have gone batty.”

The walk from the streetcar stop to the rooming house involved Gladys basically pushing Betty down the sidewalk in her rush to meet this strange blonde time-traveler—or at least, prove or disprove Betty’s story (though Gladys, kind soul, desperately wanted it to be true). At the door to her room, Betty paused with her hand on the knob and took a breath, then pushed it open to reveal...

Leslie was sitting cross-legged on the bed with a newspaper spread open before her. She looked up as the door opened and started to say, “Can you believe—” when she noticed Gladys just behind Betty in the doorway. With her standard charm, Leslie jumped to her feet and held out her hand, saying, “Hello! I’m Shay. Nice to meet you.”

Gladys approached with a touch more trepidation, but shook her hand. “I’m Gladys. I hear you’re visiting? From the future?”

Leslie grinned, crossing her arms over her chest as she stood with one hip cocked—a pose that didn’t have quite the usual effect in Betty’s long skirt and blouse. “Seems that way. Pretty mind-blowing, right?”

Looking confused, Gladys turned to Betty, who smiled and shrugged one shoulder.

“Anyway, I’ve been cooped up in here all day, reading about the crazy world that is the 1940s, and I would love to go for a walk around the neighbourhood. You guys cool with that?” When both women responded with blank faces, Leslie walked up to Betty and held out her elbow. “My lady?”

Betty ducked her head and took Leslie’s arm, then stretched her free hand back to Gladys. “May as well; Gladys?”

The sun was just setting as they headed out; the streets were bustling with men and women coming from work or heading to the store to shop for dinner. Leslie looked pseudo-casually from one side to the other, up and down buildings, absorbing outfits and advertisements, architecture and style. Though she couldn’t compare it to modern-day Toronto, she exclaimed occasionally to Betty: “That Coke ad!” “The street lights!” “Even the gutters?” Nothing that meant much to Betty, but she was content to smile and ‘hmm’ in response as she enjoyed a stroll at sunset with a beautiful woman.

Due to the restrictions of busy sidewalks, Gladys trailed a few steps behind. Betty glanced back occasionally to check on her, but Gladys smiled and waved her off. When they did eventually return to the rooming house, Betty sent Leslie up the stairs ahead, ostensibly to say goodbye. She looked at Gladys, tentatively expectant.

“It’s hard to believe, but I certainly can’t provide any evidence to the contrary. You have no doubt?”

“That she is lying, none. That I or she is not insane... some doubt.”

Gladys smiled. “You, dear friend, are not insane. She certainly seems level enough, despite her vocabulary. I wouldn’t venture to explain it, but I say we go forward with the explanation we have, as it appears to be the only one. Not that you need my permission, but then...” She trailed off and cocked her head, watching Betty, who nodded distractedly, one hand on her hip and the other with her fingertips grazing her lips. Smiling softly, Gladys went on, “Whoever she is, I think she just might be good for you.”

Her attention brought back, Betty ducked her head and smiled just a little, trying not to blush.

“It’s good to see you smiling.” Gladys squeezed Betty’s hand and then hugged her tightly. “Now go be with the person who’s making you smile like this. Goodnight, Betty.”

“Goodnight, Gladys,” Betty replied with a smile, staying to see her off just to contradict her orders. Once Gladys was out of sight, Betty mounted the stairs slowly. At the door to her room, she paused again, then slipped inside and leaned her back against the closed door. Leslie was sitting at the edge of the bed, leaning back on her arms with her legs crossed one over the other.

“There you are,” she said with a smile.

Betty smiled back, staying at the door long enough to build her courage; she didn’t want to falter once she got going. A few inconspicuously deep breaths later, she crossed the room and stopped in front of Leslie, their knees touching. Without pausing she placed her hands under Leslie’s jaw and bent to kiss her. Leslie returned the kiss and uncrossed her legs, bringing her hands up to Betty’s waist and holding her there.

Leslie pushed off the floor to slide back on the bed, and Betty kneeled on either side of her legs. She sat lightly on Leslie’s lap and the hands at her waist began to tug at her blouse. When Leslie’s cool fingers came into contact with the soft skin under her shirt, a tingle ran down the length of her spine. But despite the way it felt, her heart couldn’t accept it. She wanted nothing less than to stop, but with one final, focused kiss, she did, and turned over to sit at Leslie’s side.

“I’m sorry.” It was tight around her heart, the knowledge that she couldn’t go through with this and the fear that Leslie would hate her for it.

Leslie flopped back on the bed, breathing slowly with her hands folded over her stomach. She stared at the ceiling for a moment, then rolled onto her side and curled up. Watching Betty with her cheek pressed flat to the bed, she said, “Don’t be sorry. Despite how it feels, we’ve only just met. I’m not going to blame you for...” She let a hand gesture stand in for the rest of that sentence. Still close enough, Leslie reached out and took Betty’s hand. She held it in her hand, then brought it to her lips. “You have every right to say no.”

“Not if you were a man. Then I would be a tease and frigid.” Betty wouldn’t look at Leslie. She could feel the tears just at the edge of her control.

Leslie sat up again, crossing her legs beneath her close to Betty’s side. She kept hold of Betty’s hand and said, “I’m not a man. And I’m not from the 1940s. It may sound foreign to you, but I believe that every person has the right to say no or yes to anything and everything. I can say yes as many times as I want, and that doesn’t make me a slut. You can say no as many times as you want. It doesn’t make you anything other than a fellow human who made a choice about her own life and her own body.”

“Good lord. What is it that happens in the next seventy years that makes it possible for a person like you to exist?”

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult, but I’ll take it.” Leslie grinned a cheeky grin and Betty looked affectionately at her. Leaning into her, Leslie wrapped her arm around Betty’s waist. “I like you, Betty.”

Closing her eyes, Betty worked on inhaling and exhaling as those words brought her straight back to her most recent worst memory. She had to breathe down the nausea and the shakes, work herself away from the tears that were so close to the surface. As she did this—tried to do this—Leslie felt the stress in her body and put a bit of space between them. She kept one hand on Betty’s back, rubbing small circles.

Once Betty had opened her eyes and relaxed a few degrees, Leslie said very gently, “It’s about Kate, is it?”

Betty nodded bleakly.

“I understand. I really do, Betty. I can be here for you—however long I am here—without taking anything from you.” She paused. “Speaking of, though—how long  _am_  I going to be here? Do you think this is like A Christmas Carol, and one of us needs to learn a series of lessons before one of us wakes up, in which case which of us is asleep?”

Yet once more, Leslie managed to make Betty laugh and break her, however briefly, out of her funk.

“A Christmas Carol I am familiar with. And Lord God do I ever hope this is not that. Neither of us really appears to be playing the Jacob Marley role, and let’s not even start on the ghosts...”

“I do seem to be teaching you numberless monumental lessons, though,” Leslie said with an air of pompous importance.

“Oh, yes, that must be the key to everything. You’ve been brought here to save me from my distress,” Betty replied, voice dry as unbuttered toast (though a tiny part of her believed it).

Leslie leaned on her again, putting her arm around her waist and resting her head on Betty’s shoulder. “You’re the Ghost of Christmas Past, for obvious reasons, and I’m the Ghost of Christmas Future, also for obvious reasons. Who the hell knows what counts as ‘the present’ anymore? Now we can either a) fly around teaching life-changing lessons, or b) make out. A Christmas Carol is about time-traveling ghosts who make out, right?”

Betty laughed and turned to kiss Leslie on the mouth, smile on her lips.

Also smiling, Leslie said against her mouth, “So making out you understand.”

Huffing a laugh through her nose, Betty replied, “Gladys was right about you.”

“Oh no, what did Gladys say about me?”

“Just that you make me smile,” and Betty ducked her head again. She seemed to be doing a lot of that around Leslie. It wasn’t that she made Betty feel shy so much as she made Betty  _feel_  and Betty was so used to having to hide that. She kept trying, but it wasn’t so easy around Leslie.

“Smiling is good for the soul,” Leslie said, kissing Betty again. “As is laughing, and making out. And I’m  _not_  saying this to make you feel bad or anything, but I can’t leave out the fact that sex is best of all. For the soul.”

Betty pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows.

“Hey. That’s not a line. It’s practically a scientifically proven fact. Actually, it might really be scientifically proven in 2012. Everything I know about science I learned for my job.” She held up her hands to indicate,  _not much_.

“Seventy years apart, we are the same age and yet living with such enormously disparate life experiences. Isn’t that interesting?”

“Are you jealous?”

“Of course.”

Leslie smiled at the quick and blunt response. “If I could take you back with me, I would,” and they both paused to take in the gravity of that statement. “But you have certain things holding you here, don’t you?”

Betty thought of Kate. She hadn’t given up yet, it was true. Leslie’s ‘visit’ had provided a much needed distraction and reason to smile, but her heart called out still and always for Kate’s. She didn’t know how long she would wait, but it was going to be longer than three months.

“This is my home,” she said, her eyes spelling regret. Leslie nodded and put her head back on Betty’s shoulder, just in time for Betty to lie back on the bed. Betty worked her arm free to wrap it in turn around Leslie’s waist, and they lay in silence for some time.

In fact, they lay there long enough for Betty to drift off to sleep, warm and cozy as the position was.

When she woke up, she was alone.

Leslie was gone.

* * *

In a hospital in Chicago in the year 2012, Leslie Shay woke up from a medically induced coma with fifteen stitches on her forehead, two broken ribs, and a fractured wrist.

Waiting at her bedside, Kelly Severide and Gabriela Dawson were ecstatic when Shay finally opened her eyes.

As she looked around the room, groggily regaining coherence, she muttered, “That makes more sense.”

Her friends would never get an explanation for her first conscious words.

* * *

Months later, Betty would be searching her drawers for a particular pair of stockings when she would find, neatly folded at the very back of a drawer, a pair of pants, a shirt, and a jacket—all black. She would pause over them, wondering whether it would be most reasonable to dispose of the items; instead she would rearrange the contents of the drawer and shut it tightly. Sitting on the floor, she would allow herself a moment to close her eyes and remember the strange but beautiful time-traveler she hosted for twenty-four hours. Then she would carry on with her day.

 


End file.
